Detective Calamity
by InzanityFirez
Summary: Sherlock has suddenly returned from the 'dead' with expectations to pick up where he left off, but things have changed and John's got a new life. But when Sherlock is drawn into a case involving a cursed ring, Sherlock and John are hurtled into a new world and new bodies like nothing they've seen before. Enter Dragon!Sherlock and Hobbit!John.
1. Once There Was a Detective

**So. Dragonlock. Smauglock. Johnbo. However you'd like to call it. This is going to happen. Will Sherlock and John end up a couple? I'd be happy if they did. If I have overwhelming fan demand for them to be brothers though, I could be persuaded to keep them as such. XD In either case...expect Mycroft and Lestrade to make appearances in Middle Earth. [Can you imagine Mycroft trying to pull big brother rank on Dragon!Sherlock?] Maybe Moriarty. Hmm. This takes place two years after the end of season 2. Some license has been taken. Particularly it will be taken in Middle Earth. I'll try to keep places and people canon, but don't expect the story to follow canon because...well, that just wouldn't make sense. Enjoy! XD~ **

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-..-.-**

Unbelievable. That was the only word he could possibly think to apply to Sherlock Holmes. And he was, really he was. The way that he could deduce such impossible conclusions from such small details, the way he never missed anything, the way he failed to understand such apparently simple things simply because he was so very smart. Perhaps that was why he had no idea the effect his 'death' had had on John Watson, or any one else for that matter. Or perhaps he had 'logically concluded' that any 'sentiment' would be gotten over with time. Well, apparently Sherlock hadn't let enough time pass, because John was far from 'over it'.

_"S-Sherlock..." John breathed, or choked, he wasn't sure. Perhaps he had forgotten to breathe._

_Sherlock offered a thin smile in return, as if aware of his effect and amused by it. "Hello, John."_

John furiously scrubbed the dish he was holding, teeth gritted at the sudden memory. Two years, _two years _Sherlock had been 'dead'. And then he just waltzed in without so much as a bloody _by your leave_, and acted as though nothing had changed. That was something else that Sherlock failed to understand then, _everything _had changed.

_John and Sherlock had decided to finish their reunion outside of the restaurant, and in an alley around the corner, John continued the budding anger he'd began unleashing inside. Because once he'd gotten past the joy, and the pain, and the 'sentimental' aspects...he was furious. Particularly with how Sherlock was acting._

_"Two years, Sherlock.** Two years**...you let me think you were dead."_

_"I am aware." Sherlock said plaintively, as if he couldn't see the relevance and felt Watson were unnecessarily stating the obvious. "That was the point." he added, somewhat slowly when Watson didn't respond, as if thinking the other didn't understand the concept which only infuriated the shorter man more._

_"The point? What bloody point! Sherlock...**I thought you were dead**...I **mourned** you. Do you understand? I...Sherlock, you were **gone**." John's voice broke a moment and he coughed to clear his throat as frustration and pain welled up within him. Losing Sherlock had been like losing a part of himself, he hadn't realized how integral Sherlock had become to him until he was gone. He hadn't had a life after returning from the army, he'd been half a man at best, a shell. Sherlock had made him whole, given him a purpose, a home...a family._

_"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock finally said, after a moment of watching the emotions run over John's face. Sherlock apologizing? It was a bloody miracle. "I had to do it, but I never intended for you to be hurt by it."_

_"What did you expect I would be?" John snapped back in exasperation._

_"I assumed you would move on to some degree." Of course, naturally John's life wouldn't be quite complete without him, but he was here to remedy that now._

_"M...**Move on**? Like it's so bloody easy...Sherlock...you don't get it, do you? You're not even really sorry, are you? How can you be? You don't even understand why I'm upset."_

_"You missed me. I...understand the sentiment." Even he, Sherlock Holmes, could admit that he felt...a certain longing for John's presence in their time apart. He was rather used to the other man. Clearly he'd said something wrong again though, because John looked at him as though he'd sprouted another head or some such._

_"Missed you? Are you...Sherlock...losing you...it really...you were my best friend. The closest...the closest thing to family I have outside of Harry and she's not much to go on. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"_

_Sherlock wanted to understand, he really did, if only for John's sake. But he considered John his best friend and surrogate family as well, and he wasn't in hysterics over the whole thing. "Yes, of course."_

_John didn't look convinced. "Okay, then what? What does it mean to you?"_

_"John..."_

_"I'm serious, Sherlock. What does it mean to you?" John demanded._

_Sherlock drew a long breath before he finally replied. "That I hurt you, for which I am truly sorry." he tried an apology again. "I did what I had to do, I had to disappear, John. And any one who looked for me would have looked to you first. You, more than any one, I had to stay away from. Because any one who knows me would know that you are...the most important person in my life." he admitted, and he was relieved when John's expression finally softened, although there was a bitter twist to his lips._

_"I really missed you, Sherlock." John finally said, and his gaze dropped from Sherlock's. "I don't think you really understand, because you're you...but I did. Do. But you were wrong. You could have stayed, we could fixed things...I saw you jump off a building, you lied to me-tried to say that it was all just an act...you just gave up and left me. You didn't trust me."_

_"It wasn't about trust-"_

_"-Then what was it? If you had asked me, I'd have gone with you to lay low. I'dve had your back. I would have helped you fix things."_

_"It wasn't that simple, John."_

_"Yeah...never is with you, is it, Sherlock?" John gave a bitter chuckle and after a moment's silence, John shook his head to himself before he met Sherlock's gaze again. "Things have changed."_

_"Yes, I know...Mycroft told me, you've got your own place now. But Mrs. Hudson has our flat for let again, I've got a bit of money to get us started and-" A snort from John cut him off._

_"I'm sorry, **what**?"_

_Sherlock stared at the smaller man. "I've returned for good, for the moment anyway," he said because it was in his nature to be technical and not disclude the possibility of needing to leave again, "Naturally, we'll live together again. There's no reason not to start back at it, I have a case lined up actually."_

_John's eyes widened slightly and he stiffened when Sherlock mentioned 'for the moment'. Did Sherlock mean to leave again some time? Could he wake up some day and simply find Sherlock missing from his life again, a gaping hole left in his chest where his friend's presence had once filled? "No." he said sharply, and Sherlock actually looked mildly taken aback. "Things have changed." he repeated._

_Sherlock huffed slightly and waved a dismissive hand, his moment of near-sincerity interrupted by his usual arrogance personality. "Yes, as I said, I know. I was being rather accommodating, I thought-"_

_"-**Accommodations**...? Sherlock...you're not human!"_

_"...Yes, well, you've known that all along, haven't you?" Sherlock replied archly, whether from being offended or even possibly hurt, John wasn't sure. Perhaps he was being serious. "All of the sudden it's a problem?"_

_John practically gaped at Sherlock. How could some one, especially some one so smart...possibly be so very stupid? "I have a job, and a life now, Sherlock. I like where I live, and I've gotten used to not being in the line of fire every bloody day. It's not always exciting, but it has it's perks."_

_Sherlock scrunched his nose distastefully. "You've just acclimated to a situation. Once we start working together again, you'll be-"_

_"-You don't get it." John cut him off again. "We won't be working together again, Sherlock. That's done. We aren't living together. I have a roommate. My fiance, Mary."_

_And for possibly the first time since John had met him, [other than seeing Irene Adler in her 'battle suit'] Sherlock looked struck dumb. His eyes immediately went to John's hand, and John shook his head._

_"Took the ring off, had a bit of a messy day at the hospital."_

_"You're engaged." Sherlock stated blankly._

_"That's right."_

_"...But you're...so terrible with women."_

_John stared and then snorted. "Because you're such an expert? Sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock, but once I wasn't caught up in your messes...it was considerably easier to hold a steady relationship."_

_If Sherlock was hurt by the comment, he gave no indication, but he did seem to straighten just slightly. "I see..."_

_"Do you?"_

_Sherlock stared at John a long moment before he inclined his head. "Then...I suppose you don't want to work together...even intermittently?"_

_John had a feeling this was as close as he'd ever come to seeing Sherlock look like a kicked puppy, and angry and hurt as he was by the other, he was irrationally tempted to soothe him. But he bit his tongue on that front. "No, I do not." That was a lie, but he had to draw the line somewhere and it began with Mary now. As he'd said, things had changed._

_"...And what about us?"_

_"Us?" John repeated, a bit surprised by the question and it's meaning._

_"Are we...still friends?" Sherlock actually seemed a little uncertain, an unusual state for him._

_John was surprised indeed and he stared at Sherlock with a lifted brow a moment before he settled on an answer. "We're...not...**not** friends...but Sherlock, you...really hurt me. You did a very...what you did was wrong. I'm not going to lie, I'm angry with you. Things can't be like they were..." Sherlock's shoulders actually seemed to hunch slightly, and he softened a little. "That being said...I do want...you in my life. If possible. If you'd care to be."_

_"I would." Sherlock said, rather softly for once, and he didn't hesitate as John might have expected._

_John sighed and then moved forward to pull Sherlock into a tight hug. "Welcome home, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock stiffened at first, but then his long arms snaked around John and hugged the smaller man tightly. "Thank you, John. It's good to be home..." _

The dish in John's hand shattered when a hard swipe caused it to fly out of his hands and onto the ground. He cursed as he bent down to start cleaning it. Nearly two weeks later, Sherlock's apparent acquiescence was clearly not fated to last. Which was likely how he'd found himself running for his life, _yet again_, missed a date with Mary and work, and wound up with a nearly broken arm. It was still sore. Because Sherlock had made himself sound injured, and John had rushed to his side, and been dragged headlong into a case. Sherlock had tried to play innocent, that he hadn't meant to misrepresent his condition, that he wasn't trying to persuade John back into the fold...but John wasn't stupid, for all that Sherlock seemed to think so. And whatever measure of forgiveness he'd worked up for the other had rather faded in the face of Sherlock's...heartlessness.

John wasn't going to cut Sherlock out of his life, no matter what, he knew he could never do that...but Sherlock was on thin ice and for now, John was determined to ignore him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Two weeks after Sherlock's reunion with John, he had another case, one involving an apparently cursed ring that caused any one who came into contact with it to go mad. They'd start raving about fantastical realms, and being other people, and all sorts of nonsense before they'd suddenly die a few days later in mysterious circumstances. Four lives had been claimed thus far. Sherlock had had the ring for a full day, against Mycroft's orders to turn it in [since he wanted to study it and didn't believe in curses], and nothing had happened. Not until a pair of mercenaries turned up to steal it for the highest bidder, and he'd gotten himself a rather fierce cut across the chest. Sherlock had bested one mercenary despite the injury and blood, and had another to go, and didn't notice that the ring had turned red after apparently sucking up a bit of his blood.

John, who had forgone dishes in favor of sitting in his chair, frowned when his phone rang and Mycroft's name popped up. He hesitated before he begrudgingly answered. "Don't tell me he wants you to plead his case, Mycroft? It's not going to work. He's on time-out." John huffed.

"John, I believe Sherlock may be in trouble. I need you to go to him. He's at 2231 W. Parlour Main St. I am in the middle of a crucial diplomatic meeting or I would go myself."

John snorted, not believing it for a moment after Sherlock had already just cried wolf. But still, turning to Mycroft for help, was he that desperate then? "Right. He's in trouble. And you'd actually get out from behind your desk. Nice try, Mycroft...I'll talk to you later-"

"-John Watson!" Mycroft's voice was sharp, he'd never heard it so sharp before. He sounded...genuinely worried? "He was investigating a rather...unusual case. I've just been informed that an interested party sent some rather well-paid and very efficient mercenaries after him and he hasn't contacted me in a day and half, although he should have been here last night. Whatever is between you two, I must ask you, John..._please_...you are the only person I can trust my brother's welfare to. I believe he needs you."

John was flabbergasted. And now convinced. "What was that address again?" he asked urgently, already up as sudden concern filled him. Memories of nightmares and restless nights, seeing Sherlock fall over and over again in his mind, teary, bitter days and nights blaming himself...the pain, the loss, he couldn't do it again.

"2231 W. Parlour Main St. Hurry, John. Thank you."

_Sherlock...you'd better be alright. _John's thoughts were anxious as he hailed a taxi and raced off to the appointed address.

Mycroft ended the call and bit his lip as he tapped his phone anxiously on the chair. He'd had a bad feeling, and while he wasn't one for gut instincts and 'feelings'...this was something honed from years of being a big brother. The way he could somehow sense when Sherlock was about to mix unstable chemicals, or try to eat an unsavory mushroom, or examine the inside of a surly dog's mouth...his big brother sense, as sentimental and silly as that was, was practically on fire and if it weren't truly a matter of national importance that he finish this meeting, he would be by his brother's side already.

_Hurry, John._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Fire. There was fire every where.

Bilbo Baggins stared in horror from his vantage in Erebor as Smaug made good on his wicked intent and headed down to Dale to cause destruction and end the line of Bard. He had to stop him, he had to stop this somehow, but what could he do? Still, he had to try, didn't he? Also, Bofur, Fili, and Kili were down there, they were in trouble...

"Burglar!"

Bilbo whirled around to find Thorin behind him. "Thorin! The town, he's going to burn it, he's going to kill them all-"

"There's no time for that!" Thorin snapped. "Where is it? Where is the Arkenstone?"

Bilbo stared up at the dwarf in stunned silence a moment before he pointed towards Dale. "Smaug is going after Dale, they'll all_ die_."

"Then they'll die! We can't fight a dragon alone, we need the stone to unite the dwarves. Then we can worry about slaying Smaug. If he returns and we haven't got the stone, we're doomed."

Bilbo continued to stare, and was it his imagination, or did Thorin seem more haggard somehow, darker? "Fili and Kili are there, and Bofur. Are you so ready for them to die as well?"

Thorin stiffened, and his eyes widened slightly as if he'd forgotten. His eyes went to the village and he seemed ready to head towards it a moment before he shook his head. "If we leave now, we are good as dead ourselves. Our only hope is to find the Arkenstone. It's the only way to save us, and the others from the wrath of Smaug."

Thorin wasn't perfect; he was angry, and could be foolish, and even selfish...but still...he seemed like a hero to Bilbo somehow, so ready to fight for his people, striving so hard to reclaim his home and family but...now, in this moment...he seemed more like a villain or a madman. "The Arkenstone was in the main chamber, where Smaug was...it should be near the bottom of the pile now."

"Then let's go." Thorin started to turn, but Bilbo shook his head.

"No, I'm going to Dale."

Thorin's eyes widened. "Then you go to die! You're our burglar, your place is here-"

"-My _place_ is where I say it is. And I say it's down there with them. The people of Dale, our company, the people Smaug is going to kill just to spite us. Maybe there is nothing I can, but I can at least try. That stupid stone won't do_ them_ any good, and it's them that I care about. Do what you like, Thorin." Bilbo looked at Thorin expectantly, but when the dwarf simply stared and did not move, Bilbo frowned in disappointment and shook his head. "Suit yourself. Good luck finding your precious stone." He understood to a degree, he truly did. This was Thorin's life pursuit and he was so close, this was what he had built all his hopes on...but in the face of Smaug and the destruction of Dale, of his family and friends...that should have meant something.

Bilbo thought of Fili and Kili, of Bofur, of Bard and his small children, the hopeful people of Dale. "Just hold on." he whispered as he ran as fast as his feet would carry him, straight to Dale and the wrath of Smaug.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**So...sleepy...hopefully this is all coherent. Definitely some angstyness and such but...it's been two years, Watson had his heart wrenched out, Sherlock's been unwittingly missing his brains out in his own sociopathic way...and so on and so forth. Thorin is going mad. What else is new? Also, does anyone care what Bilbo and Smaug are up to inhabiting Sherlock and John's bodies? Should I bother? Maybe Smaug vs Moriarty? XD Reviews are like verbal hugs and feed my soul! Enjoy!~ Witchy~**


	2. Who Knew a Certain Doctor

**Dun dun dun, the second chapter. I'll try to keep wakeful and such. Tokienite, thanks for the point out! I kept thinking it was Rivertown, and google wouldn't pull it up it would only give me Dale eventually. Laketown. So close. I'll fix that, maybe not tonight, but I will! And some typos I noticed...I digress. Awesome and Dragon...THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS. They're like verbal hugs, and then when I'm stuck at work all day and my phone sends them to me it's like a little slice of joy in my day. XD Anonymous...you are the straw that broke the camel's back. Detective!Smaug and Doctor!Bilbo as well**

**it is! And now to the story, enjoy!~**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

_Crack. Shatter. Crunch. _Repeat.

The crack of wall plaster as a head was slammed against it, the shatter of glass as the owner of said head careened with a nearby shelf and vase, and the crunch of bones as Sherlock's fist delivered a punishing blow to the would-be assassin's face. Sherlock had planned the series of events in his mind, but didn't have much by way of time to be satisfied as the mercenary's partner immediately attacked.

_Injured, end fight quickly_. _Opponent leaves openings on lower left side, organ damage preferable. Incoming kick, followed by roundhouse punch-dodge. _

Sherlock ran through his situation and possibilities as he fought, rather aware of his predicament. The mercenaries were hardly experts...but they were still better than the cheap lot he was used to. He had been careless, perhaps, which would account for how he'd managed to take a long rake from a knife across his chest. Not too deep, but still in need of attention and bleeding irritatingly. This would not have been the case if John Watson had been present, but of course, John was occupied with his..._fiance_. Dreadful things, those. He could see it now, John Watson being stuffed silly with her baked sweets, growing complacent, having..._children_.

Sherlock didn't allow his mind to wander too heavily in the course of the fight, but he had thought things over in great length following his reunion with John. He had expected waterworks and a giant, mushy emotional welcome that he would have generously accepted and vaguely reciprocated. But instead, he'd been met with a moment's sincerity and a bucket's load of anger and accusations. Sherlock had only done what was necessary, he had protected his associates, and kept Watson out of the line of fire. Perhaps he ought to have mentioned that John, Lestrade's, and Mrs. Hudson's lives had hung in the balance but even so...

_"Because you're such an expert? Sorry to disappoint you, Sherlock, but once I wasn't caught up in your messes...it was considerably easier to hold a steady relationship."_

His messes? As if John hadn't loved every life-threatening minute of it? And they had _had_ a steady relationship. It wasn't as if a person needed more than one, and contrary to John's popular opinion, a sexual and, or, 'loving' relationship wasn't required either.

_"Accomodating? Sherlock, you're not human!" _

John had never really called him anything like a freak. Obnoxious, arrogant, annoying, and so on...but he had never taken a truly negative stance on Sherlock, rather, he had admired him. He had been one of very few people not to denounce him as a sideshow act, his..._friend_. And while Sherlock knew at least that they were just a bit of hot words spoken in frustration, such words tended to have a ring of truth to them. To some degree, John really did find Sherlock...inhuman. And the thought put an odd, clenching...sensation in his chest. John said he considered them best friends and family, so then why was that not enough?

Another blow came at him which he dodged easily before delivering what was to be a punishing kick to the side, but the mercenary had more skill than he'd given him credit for. The man dove down to avoid the kick and slashed at Sherlock's leg. A quick twist was enough to make the slash little more than a passing glance, but he wasn't about to give the other man another opportunity. He edged for the door, and more importantly, a little table with a rather heavy metal paper weight. The man darted forward, only to veer suddenly as his attention was attracted elsewhere. Sherlock found the distraction and shouted. "John, duck!"

-.-.-.-.-.-.

The taxi seemed impossibly slow despite meeting little traffic, and John's mind was a litany of morbid _what-ifs _as he rode. When he reached his location he all but hurled the money at the driver before he bounded up the steps of the little building. _Oh, God, please let him be alright...just let him be alright..._ He didn't waste time with knocking as he ran inside, and the first doorway of the hall revealed the man he'd been looking for, although he heard rather than saw him first.

"John, duck!"

John blinked as adrenaline spurred his body into activity and he ducked down just in time to avoid an aerial knife slash. Instincts he hadn't been quite sure he still possessed kicked in as he charged forward and thrust his knee into the man's stomach as he grappled for the knife. He felt a nick on his hand as the knife scratched his hand. But before he could really get anywhere with the fight, he heard a sickening _crack_ and felt his attacker's body go limp. Behind him stood Sherlock, holding a paper weight and visibly covered in blood despite his dark clothes. "Sherlock!"

His attacker forgotten for the moment, [not an issue since he was now quite unconscious], he covered the distance between them and peered at Sherlock's wound in concern. "Are you alright? Lift your shirt, let me have a look at it." he ordered with urgency. The wound didn't seem dire, but he'd made a quick judgment and force the stubborn detective into the hospital ward if he had to.

Sherlock waved him off. "There's no need, I'm perfectly fine. Minor scratch." he said dismissively as he jabbed a foot at the now unconscious attackers to ascertain that they were indeed out cold. "Excellent timing. Mycroft could not have planned it better."

"It is not perfectly fine, let me see." John insisted with a frown, willing to let go the fact that Sherlock knew right off that Mycroft had contacted him.

"As I said, there's no need-let go of my shirt-enough...John, _enough_. Stop."

John had been attempting to held himself to lifting Sherlock's shirt, but he stopped short as the detective spoke sharply. The two stared at each other for a long moment before John muttered. "I should be going, clearly you don't need me here. As usual, you've got it all taken care of." he started to turn by Sherlock caught him by the arm.

"I don't know what I've done to offend you, but I hardly think not being injured is something to be angry about. Rather, shouldn't you be happy that I'm only bleeding and not dying?" Sherlock pointed out, a bit puzzled when John suddenly blanched and jerked his arm away.

"You're too careless, Sherlock." John finally said, through slightly gritted teeth. "You've only got one life."

"I am aware." Sherlock said bluntly, and clearly that was again the wrong thing to say because John's eyes narrowed. Rather than give him the opportunity to scold Sherlock further, he turned suddenly and headed over to a corner to pick something up from behind a chair. He stilled suddenly, as though actually caught by surprise, before he headed over to John with a small frown.

"What is it?" John wasn't settled on matters, but Sherlock had a queer look on his face and he glanced at the other's palm. A plain-looking gold ring with a reddish tinge lay on said palm, and realization struck him. "The 'cursed' ring? So that's why...them." he pointed to the mercenaries as he worked it out before he looked back at Sherlock. "That's the ring, isn't it?" he asked, when Sherlock said nothing and continued to stare oddly at the ring. "Sherlock?"

"It's...warm."

"Uh...well, you are wearing a jacket..." John pointed out slowly.

"Not me." Sherlock muttered. "The ring. It's...warm. And it's...pulsating."

"Excuse me?"

"Impossible..."

"What is?"

"Unless it's a design of the ring...but the blood wouldn't be warm any longer.."

"What are you talking about?" But Sherlock wasn't paying him any mind, he seemed lost in thought, gaze transfixed on the ring as he muttered to himself John frowned before he snatched the ring from Sherlock's grasp and nearly dropped the ring when he actually felt it. The ring was warm, almost hot, and indeed it felt...as if it had a pulse, like blood flowing through veins. John breathed in sharply as he felt a prick on his hand, and he realized where the knife had nicked him earlier was bleeding slightly...and the blood seemed to dribble from his hand right..._into_ the ring? "Sherlock, did you see that?"

Sherlock's eyes were just slightly wide as he finally met John's gaze. "There's no such thing as cursed rings." he said, as if to convince himself. It reminded John of the Baskerville case and Sherlock's panic when he was faced with something outlandish that he could not readily explain.

"Tell that to the bloody vibrating ring." John retorted as it suddenly seemed to grow hotter. "Ow!" he dropped the ring then, and it gave one sharp clatter on the floor before it simply fell as though shoved down rather than bouncing around for a second.

Sherlock and John exchanged a glance before Sherlock bent to pick it up...only to have a bright light suddenly erupt from the ring, one that was hot and blinding and snatched away their senses. John felt as though his body were being pulled apart, a burning pain washed over him and he thought he might have tried to scream except that no sound came out. Or perhaps he couldn't hear it, he couldn't seem to see either, or feel anything really.

And then everything just went black.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bilbo rushed towards Lake Town, uncertain of how he could help but still determined to do so. That the people were presently in danger was entirely the fault of Bilbo and the dwarves. They had woken up Smaug and baited him, lured the townspeople into trusting them with sweet promises and honeyed words. But the truth was, it seemed that Thorin would let the whole world burn if it meant that he had his precious stone. Not even for Bag End, his much beloved home, would he sacrifice even a town full of strangers. Let alone his cousins as friend, as Fili, Kili, and Bofur were to Thorin.

He heard a terrible roar that made his blood run cold and sent a chill down his spine. Smaug hurled fire into the air, but he barely let the flames like Lake Town. He clearly intended to play with them, to keep the screaming, running people in panic before he burned them alive. And all to spite them and end the line of the one man who might be able to stop him. Bilbo thought again of Bard's children and pushed his small body to it's limit, till his lungs were burning, after he finally descended the mountain and ran towards Lake Town. Would he make it in time?

Would he live if he did?

"Agh!" A sudden pain over took him and he clutched at his heart as he misstepped and found himself barreling over a rock onto the ground before him. His heart was aching, clenching in his chest and his body started to tingle and feel as though it were burning. Was this Smaug's doing? He cast pain-filled eyes towards Lake Town, startled as he had looked up just in time to see Smaug suddenly veer downwards in a hard landing that shook the area a bit. Bilbo had no time to ponder it as he suddenly grew very tired, and he was lost to his sense long before his head hit the ground.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

**ZzZzzzZz. Again...hopefully coherent. XD So tired. Fight scenes are always so...irksome. Unless you're watching them and then they're hopefully quite interesting. I digress. Next chapter, Dragon!Sherlock and Hobbit!John, and Detective!Smaug and Doctor!Bilbo. Thanks for the reviews, faves, and alerts...they brighten my soul and encourage me to write. XD Enjoy!~Witchy~ **


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